


New Family and New Traditions

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adopted Child, Christmas fluff!, Established Relationship, Food, M/M, Parent-child relationships, Steter Secret Santa, family traditions, i write about food a lot, not much, weensy bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 10:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13165146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: It’s a challenge when two people get together, figuring out how to do holidays. Take a decoration from this family and a recipe from the other. When should you celebrate, who’s invited over and of course, you want some things that are yours alone. Develop some new things for your children to remember and maybe it’ll be something they pass along. It sounds great, and it is, but it’s a challenge.





	New Family and New Traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesushiowl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thesushiowl).



> Steter Secret Santa 2017!
> 
> For thesushiowl, who wanted fluff and holiday things, snuggling in front of the fireplace and that sort of thing. Glad that's your preference and I hope you enjoy.

It’s a challenge when two people get together, figuring out how to do holidays. Take a decoration from this family and a recipe from the other. When should you celebrate, who’s invited over and of course, you want some things that are yours alone. Develop some new things for your children to remember and maybe it’ll be something they pass along. It sounds great, and it is, but it’s a challenge.

Halloween is easy. It’s all Stiles’ and he makes the most of it. Decorations start on October 1 and by the actual date, there’s pumpkins everywhere and autumn leaves and so many lights a plane could land in the front yard.

Peter enjoys the holiday and supports Stiles, especially in the parts of it meant to scare. He’s in charge of the graveyard in the front yard and one might say he goes overboard – although Stiles never will. And of course, it’s Peter’s time to answer the door in his full wolf-face, making children (and their parents) gasp and squeal. Stiles grins when he lets a brave six-year old tug on his sideburns and he doesn’t even bite her hand off. Work in progress, indeed.

It must be the mellow, family version of Peter. Since they have their adopted daughter, Drew, he’s shown he can be a pussy-cat. Derek says he acts like the uncle he remembers from childhood, even if he never says that in front of Peter, lest he try to prove himself to be his normal, obnoxious self.

Drew has them both wrapped around her clawed little finger, and neither of her parents put up a fight. Since she first came to them, Halloween has included dressing her up and taking her out so their friends can coo at her cuteness. As of age three, Stiles insists on a family costume and it has to revolve around her. 

Thanksgiving isn’t exactly a child-friendly holiday, but with a werewolf child it can be. There’s food, so much food and Stiles makes lots of sides that he knows she likes them. She’s still young enough to eat her green beans with her hands and it’s cute. Peter isn’t sure that mashed potatoes are a finger food, but he is the one who suggests they give her a whole roast chicken to wrestle with. That’s done out in the backyard with her family watching and cheering her on. Derek tries to look judgmental, but can’t help grinning, bunny teeth on display. Cora is positively delighted, cheering her on. “Kick it! Kick that little bastard!”

“Language!” Stiles says, even though he can barely hold in his laughter. “Although I agree with the kicking part. Get it, Drew!”

After she’s won her battle and eaten her full (including an entire drumstick, bone and all) she’s almost willing to take her bath and then sit at the table with her family, quietly dozing.

 

Christmas is a different type of holiday though, one that has more emotional baggage behind it. Probably for everyone, but certainly when you’re dealing with two people who have both lost family. They always decorate because Stiles loves to decorate and he especially loves twinkling lights, but they spend Thanksgiving through the New Year treading just a little more carefully, knowing they’re both a little bit fragile.

After Drew, however, there’s some type of unspoken decision that they need to make the holiday their own. Or as Stiles says, “This year, Christmas will be my bitch.”

Peter’s the one who insisted they have a menorah on their mantle and he’s glad he did when he first sees Stiles’ smile.

“Thanks. Thank you,” Stiles whispers against his neck. “I know it’s weird, with the tree, but…”

“Nothing weird about it, it’s your family’s faith and history. Or at least your mother’s,” Peter answers, tilting his head, loving Stiles’ face against his throat, loving that he loves it. “You’re okay with the tree as well?”

Stiles pulls back, jaw dropped. “Yes! Yes, we need a tree, of course there’s a tree!”

“Whatever else you want, we can have, you know that.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, pulling Peter into a hug. One that turns Peter’s back to the mantle, so Stiles can look over his shoulder at their latest acquisition. “We had a menorah when I was little, it was my grandmother’s and then my mother had it. Along the tree, of course. I wonder where Mom’s is.”

“If you think your father’ll be okay with it, we can ask him for it,” Peter says, content with the hug, letting him rub his face in that tasty spot behind Stiles’ ear.

“Maybe. I think I need some time to work my way up to it.” With one more kiss, he moves away, adjusting the menorah just an inch to the right. “We haven’t had it out since Mom died, but it still might be…”

“No rush,” Peter says. “If you like this one, this will become our family tradition.”

“You’re going to move it back, aren’t you?”

Peter stares at the mantle and says, “As soon as you leave the room.”

 

Every year, there’s a few more Hanukkah decorations. Peter’s not sure where Stiles found them, but they’re added in and in fact, he likes the blue, silver and white decorations a bit more than the gaudier, traditional red and green Christmas ones.

Drew’s still young, too young to understand about holidays really. All she knows is the house is bright and pretty, she gets her picture taken at the mall and there’s even more presents than usual. She “helps” decorating, sometimes handing her parents an ornament to hang and sometimes running off with it to hide it in her bedroom. At least that’s better than last year when they had to keep an eye out to make sure she wasn’t climbing the tree.

 

For the last few holidays, Christmas day is spent at Derek’s loft. It’s taken a few years to feel like a home, but now it’s become more comfortable with actual furniture and things hanging on the wall. The holes are all repaired and rooms are painted. There’s even rugs on the floor, warming up the concrete-industrial vibe it started with. Of course it helps that Braeden’s been back with Derek for a few years. No one really pictured her as domestic, but compared to Derek, she’s Martha Stewart.

Their home is decorated, there’s a tree and lights and it’s pretty, if not as decorated as Stiles and Peter’s. Dinner is a pot luck, with pack members bringing family favorites. There’s plenty of food and over the years they’ve determined how much to bring in order to make sure everyone can take home a Tupperware container of leftovers.

That’s the party for everyone, pack and their families and friends in the know. Allison and Chris are invited and after a few “special” drinks, even Peter’s polite to them. He doesn’t go out of his way to spend time with them, but since he doesn’t go out of his way to slit their throats, it’s considered a win all around. This really shows how Derek’s matured; he no longer wants his loft covered in blood.

 

So if Christmas day is pack time, Christmas Eve is family time. Stiles isn’t sure what everyone does or if anyone gets together (maybe Boyd and Erica’s families?  Who knows?) but for them, it’s dinner with the three of them and his dad. He wasn’t sure Peter would want to do that, his relationship with Noah  wasn’t great at first and of course there’s the issue that Peter’s closer to Noah’s age than Stiles’ but now they’re both good. Peter loves Stiles and Stiles loves his dad and so the three of them – now the four of them – have their Christmas Eve together.

Noah gets to their house in time for a pre-dinner drink, with time to relax, enjoy the decorations and enjoy his granddaughter who attacks him before he can even get his coat off.

“Hey, Drew,” he says, picking her up and swinging her around before he cuddles her to his chest. “Are you ready for Santa Claus tonight?”

“Yes! I’ve been good!” She scents him, pushing her face into his neck and then wiggles until he lets her down. “Papa said so,” she says, grabbing Stiles by the legs. “I’m good, huh?”

He bends down and picks her up, carrying her to his father to give him a one-armed hug and quick kiss on the cheek. “Yes, you are, baby. Papa and I think you’re the goodest.”

“Please don’t teach her butchered English,” Peter says, passing them and giving Stiles’ temple a quick kiss. “Hi, Noah, come on in. You know where to put your coat.”

“Sure do, and give me back that cute girl!” he demands, grabbing a squealing Drew from Stiles’ arms. Stiles wasn’t sure at first that his father would accept their adopted, werewolf daughter as a grandchild, but he couldn’t be happier. There’s pictures of her – of the whole family – on his desk and a picture of him holding Drew is the wallpaper on Noah’s phone.

The next hour or so is spent talking, drinking, playing with Drew, admiring decorations and generally catching up. Even though they all live in Beacon Hills, not even fifteen minute away, there’s not time to talk every day. They usually try for a real, sit-down dinner at least every other week and Stiles makes sure to drop by the station on the off weeks with Drew so they can get their fill of each other, with lots of hugging and sniffing (at least on Drew’s part). She’s every bit as much of the “station pet” as he was when he was a child.

When it’s dinner time, Peter calls everyone to the table, making sure that Drew’s in her high chair (which she hates, but it keeps her from crawling on the table) with her Dora plate in front of her (which Peter hates) before he finishes bringing everything to the table.

“What’s this, babe? This is different.” Stiles looks at the array of items on their dining room table and a light comes to his eyes. “Really? You didn’t?”

“Afraid I did,” Peter answers. “Okay, you probably – I hope – know what everything is. And yes, Hanukkah is done, but since you don’t seem to mind combining the holidays, I did too.” He takes Drew’s plate and puts a small amount of everything on it, listing as he goes. “Stuffed cabbage, of course. pierogis stuffed with cheese, fried cabbage and noodles, because apparently there’s no such thing as too much cabbage. There’s carp with onions, olives and raisins, which is surprisingly good. Kielbasa, of course. And poppy seed rolls, your favorite latkes, noodle kugel and for dessert we have an apple cake. Although I guess the poppy seed roll and the kugel could also be dessert? Drew was very helpful with those, by the way.”

“How… how did you do all this?” Stiles asks, looking at everything in front of them. His father is digging in, taking portions of everything until his plate’s overflowing. “Where’d you get the recipes?”

Peter looks at him, noting Stiles hasn’t actually taken any food, he’s still too busy looking at the platters and bowls on the table. “I hope you don’t mind I changed this year’s menu. I did some research and called in a few favors from friends who knew packs in Poland and when I finally got to the right people, they were delighted to share their recipes. Oh, and we need to put some pictures of Drew on Instagram. Or more pictures, I guess.”

Noah stops eating, a forkful of cabbage roll on its way to his mouth. “You spoke with people in Poland? Well, I’m impressed, everything tastes... like my mother. Like Claudia used to make.”

“More?” Drew isn’t asking a question, with food it’s more like a demand. She still has food on her plate and a chunk of kielbasa squished in her hand, but looks towards Peter and down to her plate.

“Finish what you have,” Peter tells her. He looks at Stiles who is carefully tasting bits of dinner. “Stiles? Everything okay?”

“Um hmm, it’s all good.” He picks up a slice of poppy seed roll, looking at the dark swirl and the buttery dough. “It’s …” He shakes his head and pushes away from the table, and heads down the hall towards the bedroom.

“Well that went well,” Peter says, taking a deep breath. “I thought it might bring back some memories, but I was hoping good ones.”

“Papa?” Drew turns and looks towards the hallway where Daddy went and starts squirming in her chair.

“I can go check on him,” Noah offers. “Or we let him have a minute.”

Peter gives Drew a bit more of the things she points to and sits back down to eat another bite himself. “He sounds okay, he just seems to be pacing,” Peter says, glancing down the hallway. “I think we give him a minute. He’ll want to eat with the pup here.”

“Well, who wouldn’t?” Noah says, beaming at his granddaughter as she spears some noodles with her fork.

They eat for another minute and Peter asks, “Did I fu -  mess up?”

“No. No, you didn’t. You did something really nice for us – for him – and he’s just surprised, I think. We haven’t done a Christmas dinner like this since… honestly, probably not since his mother died. I probably should have, but…”

“Grampa?” Drew asks, giving him a look full of concern, eyebrows and nose all squished together.

“I’m okay, pup,” Noah says, leaning over to give her head a scruff.

Peter smiles when Noah uses their nickname for her. She’s a werewolf child, so she is a pup, but it’s also just a cute name for her. “Your smell changed. She’s not sure what it is, but she recognizes something bitter in your scent.”

“Sorry, I don’t know how to stop that.” Noah tilts his head to look down the hallway. “Maybe one of us should one of us go check.”

Before Peter can answer, Stiles has slipped back into his chair. “Hey,” he says and leans over to kiss Peter’s cheek. “Sorry.” He smiles at Drew and reaches over the table to steal one of her pierogis, laughing when she growls. “Your papa makes good food, you gotta be faster, honey.”

“You shouldn’t tease her, you know that doesn’t work well. Remember when she climbed over the picnic table to get a hotdog from Isaac?” Peter – Papa to their daughter – puts another pierogi on her plate, cutting it into thirds so it’s easier for her to eat.

Shaking his head, Noah cuts the cabbage roll on his plate into smaller pieces and passes it to Drew, hoping she won’t try again to shove the whole thing in her mouth. “Sorry I missed that.” He stops and gives a little smirk, much like the one his son often has. “Is it wrong that I kind of enjoy when she attacks Isaac?”

“No, we all do,” Stiles says, filling his plate with a lot of everything. “I’m going to save the kugel for dessert, like you said. And I hope there’s another poppy seed roll for breakfast?”

“I did make a few of them, I was told you can’t have enough. Oh, and there’s rum babka and rugelach for dessert as well. I might have gone overboard.” Peter rubs Stiles’ wrist, smiling into his food as their bond lights up in his chest. Drew feels something too, given the way she smiles at them both.

“Never too much, this is perfect. You getting enough to eat, squirt?” Stiles asks her. “Do you need me to cut your…”

“NO! I’ll do it!” Drew moves her plate closer to her and glares for a second until Peter raises an eyebrow at her. “No, thank you, I do it,” she says, smiling at her fathers.

Noah serves himself another spoonful of carp and grins at his plate. “Do you think there’ll be any leftovers? Maybe?”

It’s taken them awhile to be able to sit together without snide comments. Something else they can probably thank Drew for. “They’re already packed for you and in the fridge, with heating instructions,” Peter tells his father-in-law.

Nodding his thanks, Noah spears some cabbage and noodles on his fork and continues eating.

 

The evening ends towards ten, when Drew’s asleep on the couch, everyone’s had multiple cups of coffee (decaf for Noah) and multiple helpings of dessert. They exchange their presents tonight, since tomorrow at Derek and Braeden’s will likely be loud and a little frantic with more children and food and happy chaos. Of course, Drew will have another present or two there; there’s no way Noah would allow her to not open something from him.

A bag of plastic containers stuffed with dinner items is set on the table next to the front door as Noah puts on his coat and slips back into his shoes.

“Thank you for another great Christmas Eve,” he says and hugs his son. They both hold on, eyes shut, just enjoying their relationship now. Stiles is an adult, with a job and husband and child, but he was a son first, and Noah’s only child. Noah may not have been the best parent, working too hard and letting himself wallow in grief for too long when his child needed him most. They can never get those years back, but they both treasure their relationship now. 

“Thanks for coming and we’ll see you tomorrow,” Stiles says, stepping back, and taking Peter’s hand. “Any time after one – although too early and Braeden will make you work.”

Noah snorts and says, “I’m surprised there’s anything for anyone to do – I thought she has Derek as her personal slave.”

“Her willing slave, at least,” Peter answers. “But I’m sure she’ll be able to find things for others to do as well. That woman is frighteningly organized.”

“Probably.” Noah holds out a hand to Peter; it’s kind of awkward, they’ve never quite figured out how to do this. Noah appreciates Peter for what he gives his son, not just the security of money, but love and a family. Peter knows Stiles loves his father and so Peter doesn’t offer his opinions on how his mate had to practically raise himself.

“Good night, Dad!” Peter grabs Noah and hugs him, scenting down his neck and keeping him hugged tightly.

Noah chuckles and pushes him off. “Yeah, l don’t think either of us want to do that,” he says, but gives Peter a good squeeze and clasps his shoulder. Not the son-in-law he expected, but his boy could do a lot worse.

 

Drew’s carried to her room and between the two of them, they’re able to strip her down, wash her hands and face and put her into pajamas without her even waking up. They spend a couple of minutes watching her sleep in her big-girl bed before Stiles whispers, “Come on, Santa, time to get to work.”

“Oh that’s a new one,” Peter says with a leer, chuckling when Stiles scoffs and leads him back into the living room.

Stiles throws himself on the couch and says, “Okay. We have time to do stuff, right?”

“Should have,” Peter answers, sitting next to him, pulling him closer. He rubs his face in Stiles hair, kissing his temple. It’s affection certainly and if it removes a little of his father’s smell, that’s okay as well. “You know, maybe Santa’s presents should be opened up on Christmas Eve, when you’re father’s here.”

Pulling away with a gasp, Stiles’ eyes goes wide and he whispers, “No. No, Peter. Santa comes during the night when good little girls and boys are asleep. His presents cannot be here Christmas Eve.”

Peter sighs and pushes himself off the couch. “Wine, hot cider or egg nog?”

“Egg nog, please,” Stiles answers, patting his mate on the ass and getting up to start Christmas Eve Part Two.

 

It’s just past midnight when they’re done. Yes, there’s probably too many presents for one three-year old and maybe she’s spoiled (yes, she’s spoiled) but she won’t believe in Santa forever and Peter can’t bear her not having everything on her Christmas list. Sure, some will come from Grampa and some from the pack mates, but most are from Daddy and Papa.

“This is excessive,” Stiles says. They’re sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa, fireplace in front of them and the tree, lit with strings and strings of lights just to the side. The television is on with a Yule Log show (“because that’s how it’s done, Peter”) and they each have their cup of highly spiced and highly spiked egg nog.

Peter leans over and nips Stiles’ shoulder. Even with his sweater on, it’ll leave a bruise, which Peter will kiss in the morning. “Which part? The decorations? The presents? The alcohol?”

“Maybe, all of it? But hey, it’s once a year and pretty soon, she won’t want to be with her boring old parents,” he answers, sighing as he takes a sip.

Peter chuckles and pulls Stiles close to his chest, letting him snuggle under his arm. “That’s not too bad, with a pack. I mean, there’s a little pulling away like a teenager, but they always come back. The bond is too strong.”

Stiles pats Peter’s chest where their bond glows inside both of them and to their daughter and their pack. “Yeah, that’s good.” He sits up and turns to Peter, smell flaring with anxiousness. “I am sorry about earlier, at dinner. It’s not that I didn’t love it, because I did, I loved it, it was just…”

“A lot all at once, I know. And I’m glad you and your father both liked it. It was fun to do, actually,” Peter says, and tugs Stiles back against him.

The clock over the fireplace chimes, and Stiles tilts his head up, cupping Peter’s cheek and pulling him into a kiss. “Hey, you. Merry Christmas, my wolf.”

“And happy Hanukkah, my moon,” Peter answers back. “Bed?”

“Let’s sit here for a few minutes. I like the quiet.”

Peter pours a bit more eggnog into each of their cups and sighs, slipping lower to snuggle against Stiles’ shoulder. “I can do that.”


End file.
